Boredom Is the Root of All Good
by ITrustThyLove
Summary: It all started because Q was bored. Annoyingly bored. And, really, it was all Bond's fault, anyway. If the damn bastard hadn't 'died' on a mission last Sunday, leaving Q on edge and absolutely terrified for reasons he would rather not look into, and then later turn up on his doorstep Saturday morning at an ungodly hour covered head-to-toe in blood then nothing would've happened.


Written from this prompt: /works/674390/chapters/1234085 by this person: /users/Weis/pseuds/Weis

Thank you for the lovely prompt! I hope I do it justice!

Uh! Also, I don't own Skyfall or any of it's characters, and I make no profit out of this.

**Boredom Is the Root of All Good**

It all started because Q was bored. Annoyingly and inexplicably _bored. _And, really, it was all Bond's fault, anyway. If the damn bastard hadn't 'died' on a mission last Sunday, leaving Q on edge and absolutely _terrified _for reasons he would rather not look into, and then later turn up on his doorstep Saturday morning at an ungodly hour (it was 3.47 am) covered head-to-toe in blood – luckily not all his – then nothing would have happened. He still remembered those frightening moments were it had looked like Bond was moments away from toppling over. But luckily he hadn't and the steady staccato of his heart didn't stop beating either.

So Q had done the only thing he could do: He'd brought him inside his flat and directly into his bathroom where'd he'd proceeded to strip him of his clothes and cleaned and treated his wounds: He'd lost a lot of blood but there were only a few, if rather deep, knife slashes – nothing vital – and two grazes from bullets, plus a few bruised rips, and Q breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw that it wasn't worse. It would hurt like hell, that was for sure, but Bond would live without any permanent damage and for that Q thanked his lucky star – if he believed in that sort of thing, that is. And finally, he had cleaned the rest of the blood from his body to the best of his ability and given him some painkillers to take of the edge. Q was no doctor – despite his mother's wishes (three sons and none had taken that route) – but he'd like to believe that he did alright. He had then dressed Bond, who was nearly unconscious by this point, in his biggest pyjamas pants – he had accidently purchased them 2 sizes too big while on the phone with his oldest brother, Mycroft, who was trying to talk him into coming home for Christmas that year (he'd succeeded but that was another story entirely).

Bond was now asleep, sprawled out on his back on Q's queen sized bed, taking up an obscenely amount of space and looking, for all the world, like an overgrown six year old. There was something relaxing and serene about the scene that brought a small, tender smile Q's lips. Now, like this, he didn't look like the hardened double-oh agent who's hobby was resurrection, who'd been betrayed by his M, had returned to save both her and his country and then later had held her in his arms as she died (Q had broken into the system to read Bond's report at what had happened at Skyfall). Right here, in Q's bed, asleep, he didn't look like he carried the world on his shoulders – not that he actually looked like this in public, but there was always a slight tension in his shoulders and a shadow over his eyes which one didn't see unless you were looking as closely as Q was – not that he'd ever admit to watching Bond.

And so Q had let him sleep, had walked from the room, leaving the door opened a few inches, and made his way to the kitchen where he made himself a nice cup of tea before he situated himself on the worn leather couch he'd purchased for 20 quid at a garage sale in his college years.

And so, for the first time in 6 days, could he finally breathe freely again. It was like a huge weight he hadn't even realised existed had been lifted from his chest, and now he just felt world-weary and generally exhausted. Yet he couldn't sleep. Remnants of adrenalin were still rushing through his system and he couldn't settle down enough to even come _close_ to sleep.

And so he got bored.

This was how he found himself – in his pyjamas, drinking tea – browsing the biggest security firms in Britain for leeks in their firewalls and other general faults in security – simply because he _could_.And that was how he found another hacker – quite good to have gotten this far, though nowhere near his calibre – trying to hack into Securitas, one of the largest security firms in Britain and, indeed, the world. Succeeding, too, if it wasn't because Q had found the breach in the firewall before the hacker could do whatever it was he was trying to do – he hadn't gotten that far yet. As it was; Q managed to force him out – with a bit of difficulties though it otherwise went smoothly. And while he was at it Q also reinforced Securitas' firewalls and security, leaving behind a document with details of their changes and how they worked. He also followed the hacker back into his own computer and fed him a virus that would delete his entire hard-drive and leave an image on his screen which said; _Do it again and I'll tear your life to bits and pieces. Have a nice day! _In bold, white letters on a black background. He thought, briefly, of leaving the computer version of breadcrumbs so the police would catch the hacker, but since he didn't actually know the person's business in Securitas he didn't think it would be right. It would also be quite hypocritical of him since he wouldn't have found the hacker if he hadn't been hacking into the firm himself in the first place.

All done, Q then leaned back in his chair, feeling he had done his good deed of the day, but still feeling very much restless. He couldn't find the normal peace that hacking through a few challenging firewalls usually did, and a nagging worry kept popping up from the back of his mind. He put his laptop aside and simply sat in his comfortable couch, staring into space. But the worry and anxiety kept nagging away at him, making him squirm a bit in his seat and his hands fidget. It was only a few moments later that he gave in to the inexplicable _need_, pushed himself up off the couch and made his way towards his bedroom. He stood in the door for a few minutes, simply staring at the bruised and beat-up figure sleeping in his bed. It was only then, as he watched the steady rise and fall of Bond's chest, that the tightness in his chest reseeded, and he could finally breath freely again. In that moment he gave up on doing anything productive for the night – morning; and he walked into the room and silently dragged his old, used armchair, which he'd gotten from his Grandfather when he died, up beside the bed and slumped down in it. It was only a few moments before he too was asleep, Bond's low, steady breaths lulling him to sleep like a lullaby.

* * *

Bond slept. Bond slept _a lot. _Q quickly made a theory that Bond wasn't just catching up on sleep lost on his last mission, but in fact for sleep lost in the last few decades, give or take. Q couldn't imagine the stress and paranoia that came with being a double-oh agent, but Q was plenty stressed out and paranoid himself, simply from being the Quartermaster at MI6, to understand it at least a little bit.

Q woke Bond all of 3 times throughout the weekend to check on his bandages and stiches and to feed Bond so he could get his energy back. Bond was surprisingly compliant. Really, Q had been ready for all from child-like tantrums to all the fires from the seven circles of hell. But no, Bond ate what he was being fed (though only by hand the first time when his hands were shaking too much), took the pain medication he was being given and otherwise slept. Hell, he even let Q help him get up so he could use the bathroom! (Q waited on the other side of the door while Bond did his business and then helped him back into bed afterward). Q had no idea why Bond was being so docile but Q was thankful. _Very _thankful.

Bond was the perfect patient except for one thing – but, really, Q wasn't complaining. It happened the first time Q woke Bond up so he could get some food into him. He ate the soup Q gave him and when he was done Q placed the bowl on the bedside table. Q got up from his armchair to leave the room so Bond could get some sleep when he felt a surprisingly strong hand grip his wrist. Q turned around in slight alarm and looked down at Bond. What he saw stole his breath away.

There was this intense look in the agent's eyes. It was like those beautiful sky-blue eyes were staring right into Q's soul and seeing all his faults and shames and deepest secrets that not even Q himself was aware of. It was at the same time frightening and exhilarating. Yet it was as if the look was a door that worked both ways – because Q suddenly saw something in Bond's eyes that he had only caught glimpses of before. Right now, he didn't look like a big, strong double-oh agent full of brawl and bravado and confidence. He looked… small. Vulnerable. Scared. Yet also determined. Like he was setting himself up for failure but fuck it, if he wasn't going to try anywhere. Bond took as deep a breath as he could with the ribs and then he tugged lightly on Q's wrist and whispered a single word:

"Stay."

There was something almost desperate in Bond's request, and, really, there was no hesitation for Q – not when Bond asked like this. He quickly lay down next to Bond on the bed, and then moved the wrist Bond was still clutching so he himself was holding tightly onto Bond's hand. Q twisted around to turn out the bedside lamp and the room fell into darkness. He turned back around and Q's eyes found Bond's in the darkness. Q squeezed Bond's hand lightly in reassurance and it wasn't long before Bond's breathing evened out into that of slumber.

Q fell asleep with the realisation that there wasn't much he wouldn't do if Bond asked him like that.

* * *

They slept like that for the rest of the weekend. Bond was unable to fall back asleep after meals or checking of bandages without Q at his side. And Q, without any need of prompting, got into bed beside him every time, holding his hand as they fell asleep.

And if Q himself had some of best sleep he had had in years and slept more than he had in the last two weeks combined then no one would be the wiser.

* * *

And so Monday morning came around and found Q waking up alone in bed.

The light shone in through the curtains and illuminated Q's bedroom in a soothing manner, making it seem lighter, like there was no trouble in the world. That wasn't what Q felt like, though, as he woke up and found his hand – the hand Bond had been holding onto for the durations of the weekend – cold. He shot up in bed, panic making his heart beat fast and loud in his chest, and looked frantically around the room, like Bond might be hiding in the corner or behind his old, hardwood chest of drawers. It was only then, after Q's gaze had searched the room twice, that Q noticed the small folded note lying on the pillow where Bond's head had rested the entire weekend. Q, already calmer now that it looked less like Bond had been abducted and more like he had left, lifted the note from the pillow and unfolded it. The message was simple and made something inside Q feel inexplicably warmer.

_Q. _

_Thank you – for everything. _

_Bond._

And Q got up, took a shower, got dressed, ate a quick bowl of oatmeal, drank a quick cup of Earl Grey and went to work.

* * *

As Q got of the tube and made his way towards MI6 headquarters he got a text message:

_Dinner, Friday night, I'll pick you up at seven – wear something nice. Bond. _

And Q really couldn't be faulted for the small smile on his lips and the light spring to his stride as he made his way inside MI6.

* * *

Q had been working for a few hours (a new earpiece for the double-ohs – more inconspicuous, larger range, more secure line – it was going to be _brilliant_) when the call from M came. 007 had already been there to proclaim himself officially (or more like unofficially) resurrected. Again. And now it was apparently his turn though he didn't have a clue what he'd done to warrant it – unless it was because he'd been hiding Bond in his flat for the duration of the weekend. Though that couldn't be it because he had actually called M and told him that he had Bond – though he hadn't told Bond, of course, and M had only been too happy to play along and give Bond the weekend off to play dead (that might also have had something to do with the fact that Q had, not so subtly, threatened to break down MI6's firewalls, so everyone would be able to break into their main-frame, if M didn't comply – but never mind that). So what this was about he had no clue. And so he made his way up to M's office and knocked on his door.

"Enter," was called from inside the office and Q squashed down his nerves, straightened his spine and steeled his expression and stepped into the large room.

"You requested to see me, sir?" Q said as he stood in front of M's desk. M looked up from the file in his hand.

"Ah, Q, yes," he closed the file in his hand, which had CLASSIFIED written on it in big, fat red letters, and put it down on his desk off to the side. He leaned back in his seat, steepled his fingers and regarded Q in a rather unsettling way. "You see; I got the most peculiar call this morning. Apparently someone was hacking into Securitas' main-frame two nights ago." Q felt a cold shiver run down his spine at this but he resolutely kept his demeanour calm and collected, not letting it show that he now knew _exactly _why he was there.

"The hacker didn't get to do any damage before someone else," at this he looked pointly at Q "threw him out and repaired – even improved – their firewalls and security system – and all without leaving a trace. Now, apparently there are not a lot of people capable of doing this, and Securitas has been calling around some of the bigger government agencies known to have employees capable of doing this to hear if it were any of theirs. Now – is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

"I was bored!" Q blurted out, entirely against his mind's will. Damn his mouth to internal suffering in hell.

"You were bored." M said slowly, almost in disbelief, drawing out each syllable. M leaned forward in his chair, and Q shifted a bit from one foot to the other before he quickly stood still again – it wouldn't do to show how nervous he really was. "So you just thought you'd hack your way into one of the most important security companies in the UK." M stated, voice flat.

"Well, it was a good thing I did, wasn't it?" Q defended. "Or the hacker would have done only God knows what – and Britain would be in panicking shambles and entirely vulnerable to attack."

"Or maybe he was just hacking into their system to make sure others weren't doing the same," M said in a decidedly sarcastic tone, one eyebrow lifted.

"No – he wasn't doing that," Q said right away. "Or he would have done what I was doing – which was hacking my way into their system without the ability to do any changes, only observe – like surveillance. Of course, once I was in I could shift it so I could make changes but I certainly wasn't planning on doing so. But the hacker was all the way in and he was moving towards their folder of documents. I can't be sure what he was planning – but simply observing seems highly unlikely." M sighed at this and leaned back in his chair again.

"Alright," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I would tell you not to do it again, but I think that would be both counterproductive and give more problems than it would solve. You may go." Q nodded, quite relieved that he wouldn't get reprimanded, said a quick "Thank you, sir" and left the office. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Miss Moneypenny inquire;

"What was that all about?" she nodded towards M's door. Q simply shrugged, feeling determinately lighter now that he knew he wasn't in trouble.

"Oh, nothing of importance," he said offhandedly, but he couldn't quite help the smile that stretched over his face.

After all, he had a date Friday night.

* * *

Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

Reviews are love! This is my first posted fic and I'd really love to hear your opinion! Even the things you didn't like - constructive criticism is like Ben and Jerry's ice cream!

Also, I'm sorry but I couldn't resist making Q a Holmes xD


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